


Life Is Just This

by suzannahbee123



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Reader Insert, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-11-01 21:55:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suzannahbee123/pseuds/suzannahbee123
Summary: Bucky Barnes enjoys his days now, all because of you.





	Life Is Just This

Mornings used to mean nothing, a span of hours that were either spent in ice, the minutes and hours lost to him before he even knew they were gone, or they were there to be watched coming in, stars and darkness giving way to sun and birds and people. _Alone_.

Mornings were hours on a clock, counting off days on a calendar. Not anymore, however.

Now there was _you_. Warm, soft skin pressed against his. Hands idle, resting on bared flesh and secret places reserved for you only, breath along his neck, fingers intertwined with his or burrowed into his hair. Mornings were gentle. Soft, whispered words and slow even breaths.

Mornings waking up to you meant whole days ahead. Choices on food, activities. But first; there was the chore of waking up. Of disentangling limbs and pushing air and space in between your bodies. Skin would grow cooler from the lack of your touch, the memory of it was etched into Bucky’s brain, the fire you ignited in his presence enough to permanently melt away the ice of his past.

To leave the warmth of your arms was a chore that Bucky Barnes knew how to put off. How sweetly you would return to his bed with just a look, and a tilt of his lips that you had once whispered was “sinful”. Bucky knew how to use these more enjoyable weapons to gain more pleasureable pursuits than _getting up._

Soft breaths would become moans. Silence would be filled with the music of his name from your lips. Skin against sweat slicked skin and giggles ringing in his ears. Half an hour, longer, shorter. It didn’t matter. Time was something to play with when he was with you, not something to lose and never get back.

Food was next on the agenda, pursuits of the flesh, no matter how enticing, would wore you out, and Bucky would forage the world to keep your stomach full if that was what it would take. And, as you pointed out with one teasing smile, good food was great fuel to help engage in energetic activities _later on._

Another promise Bucky never thought he would have. Time was something to look forward to seeing rush towards him, your smiling eyes and trailing fingertips there to pull him into the future, all fear banished.

Fresh fruit, tart and sweet on his tongue, warm bread fluffy and thick with the taste of butter and honey. Food too was now something to be savoured, explored and chosen for _fun, _not just something to keep him moving for other people’s gain. Your frustrated huffs as he playfully took a bite of your toast straight from your hand made him laugh. Your responding chuckle eased his heart more. When you danced the half eaten food in front of his face and snatched it back at the last minute? Love bloomed again for him. Playful with you was easy and sweet.

The things he would be willing to do in order to keep you smiling.

Sunlight beats down on his shoulders not long later, the walk to the park drenched in honeyed beams and twittering birds. The symphony of New York, car horns, yells, random strings of music, all of this hits Bucky’s ears in beautiful notes. All through this though was _you, _pure perfection as you walked and talked under the weight of his right arm. Comments about the city, the people, where you wanted to go next… and you talked to Bucky about _him_.

Sweet words. Soft words. Compliments and endearments. The way you talk to him, the words ring more beautifully in his ears than all the symphony’s the world’s masters had ever created. Talking with you was a _joy_. Smiling lips and shy eyes when he successfully tells you how beautiful you are to him.

Words _mean_ something now. Not just a collection of letters used to trigger compliance and murder in him. The words _you_ use are for making him blush, stammer, they make him smile so hard his ma’s age old words would sometimes ring in his head;

_Keep pulling a face like that, James, and you’ll be stuck with it when the wind changes!_

A smile brought on by you and your pretty words is a scar he would happily wear.

Central Park now. Noisy. Chaotic. And somehow still calm. A place like this shouldn’t exist in a city such as New York, and yet it stands in all its green finery. A beautiful goddess stood in the centre of the new world of glass and steel and refusing to relent her hold on the world she created. Your favourite place to go.

Hidden shadows given by the trees hiding the sun meant Bucky could capture your lips once more, tasting the promise of _later_ on your tongue. The sun, high in the sky, was a cold and inferior star when compared to the softness of your palms as they glided over the skin of his back, your sneaky hands had snuck under his shirt as he kissed you silly.

All innocent, all sensual. Time captured in a green glazed bottle for you both to just _be together_ in. Soft lips, bright eyes and sun warmed skin. Forever could come and go under the shade of this tree, and Bucky would never notice as long as he could peck your lips with his own, earning himself another smile and pretty nickname.

A girl needs sustenance, you gently tease him an unknowable length of time later, and you take his hand, leading him towards the ice cream cart.

You would never truly know what taking his metal hand so easily would mean to Bucky. Your trust had been so easily given to him. A protest or argument on learning of his identity never once came past your lips. That you loved him was never in doubt.

His metal arm, all new and dark and shiny, gifted from Shuri and Wakanda, still made him cringe to look at on the odd occasion he thought you weren’t looking. So much horror done by an arm he no longer really had, but was still attached, regardless.

And yet, Bucky couldn’t count the number of kisses you had placed along its surface.

Two vanilla ice cream cones were held in your hands. One for him and the other for you. Delicious and cool, tempering the heat that had been steadily growing inside him as he watched you walk ahead, taking pictures of things that would _never_ be as beguiling as you.

Finally, you turn. Cone gone, camera put away, the brightness and promise of the rest of the day shining back at him in your eyes,

“Ready to go home, Bucky?”

Bucky’s life, with you, is as sweet as the vanilla and honey on your tongue. Life and home is wherever you are.

“Lead the way, Y/N.”


End file.
